We Were Young and Carefree

by Laurent Fignon

  I know that this amounted to a huge number of stage wins. The Renault team ended up with a total of ten: the team time trial, Madiot, Jules, Poisson, Menthéour and five for me. It was sporting heaven. It was a breeze from start to finish. The atmosphere was idyllic.

  In addition, history will record that I won the final time trial from Villié-Morgon to Villefranche-en-Beaujolais, completing the show of strength in the most decisive way, with a fifth stage win. But not many people remember that sometimes the margins were infinitesimal: according to the timekeepers there were just forty-eight thousandths of a second between Kelly and me.

  On the evening of the Champs-Elysées, the media went off into wild conjecture. They had just followed three weeks of ‘total victory’. Some wrote that it was comparable to Merckx’s first Tour win in 1969. My feelings weren’t quite so clear-cut and had a bit more nuance to them. I don’t remember one moment where I felt I had ‘become a legend’. My domination had been so overwhelming that a good many journalists were resorting to statistical comparisons and were already wondering – in complete seriousness, and there was a logic to it – ‘How many more can he win?’ I wasn’t thinking that way. But even so, finally giving way at the umpteenth time of asking, I ended up replying: ‘I’ll win five or six and then I’ll stop.’

  You have to see it through my eyes. At the end of July 1984 no one was capable of beating me in a major Tour. That was obvious. So not surprisingly the idea took hold and I hoped I could win everything. No one had any more doubts about my talent: why should I have spoiled the party?

  But having said that, let’s be reasonable. Even in 1984 I was not Bernard Hinault. Hinault was a better all-rounder, a better time triallist, better at hurting himself, and less susceptible to getting ill at the start of the season. I wasn’t driven by the same forces. I didn’t have pride like his, nor as uncompromising a personality.

  One thing must never be forgotten: I did not have the class that was Hinault’s. To me, that was obvious, there was no question of it.

  Dominating as I did in that 1984 Tour did not mean that I had lost my grip on reality, or my zest for life and basic pleasures. On a bike, all facades gradually fade away. Stylistic effects don’t last long. Cycling is the naked truth.

  CHAPTER 18

  * * *

  POST-OPERATIVE TRAUMA

  Bike racing at the highest level is one of the most reliable means of inspiring happiness and acquiring self-knowledge. However, it is also a production line turning out disappointments. The output is continually increased, without warning, at any time.

  On a bike you not only compete against the opposition but against yourself, and your image of yourself. It’s not just a battle against time. I hadn’t yet got to the stage where I was counting the years, but you are constantly pushing your body to the limit, and unfortunately none of us has a grip on every physical parameter.

  The start of the 1985 season went exactly as I had predicted. There was a lot of enjoyment. It was delightful progressing on every front with what amounted to a massive placard on my back denoting my new status. It was captivating, euphoric. The marvellous feeling of physical power which had lain dormant somewhat since the 1984 Tour began awakening as soon as the first race days arrived. All I can say is that the winter was exquisite and I was in dazzling form.

  I was still wearing the red, white and blue jersey of a French national champion and bore it to victories in the prologue time trial at the Étoile de Bessèges stage race, then the overall standings at the Tour of Sicily, five days of sensual delight among lemon trees, olive groves, marble-fronted palaces and antique temples. There was plenty to be happy about with the start of the season. My teammates were content, because I felt fulfilled and that trickled down to them. I was still the same person inside in every way.

  It didn’t last long. After the Étoile de Bessèges, the opening stage race of the season, I often felt a pain in my left Achilles tendon, originating in a rather stupid knock from the pedal. The pain didn’t seem anything to worry about; it came and went, but sometimes became unbearable when I had to press suddenly on the pedals. The specialists were perplexed as to the reason. After a fine ride at Flèche Wallonne (third) and a disappointing Liège–Bastogne–Liège (fifth) I stalled in full flight. Even training became painful. It was like being stabbed with a knife. Some people believed it was a mild tendonitis, others that there were microscopic ruptures in the tendon. Without any prognosis that I could rely on I decided to consult Professor Saillant, the authority among experts in this area. His verdict was that I had multiple internal inflammations in the tendon sheath. Saillant stated: ‘The tendonitis which is affecting Laurent Fignon leads to the formation of nodules of a considerable size and he will have to be operated on. What needs to be done is for the sheath to be opened to enable removal of the scar tissue which has been formed by a succession of minor ruptures in the tendon.’

  I remember asking Saillant: ‘Do I have to go through with this operation?’

  He replied: ‘If you want to ride your bike, you have no choice.’

  There was no alternative. So I went for the only reasonable option: surgery. It made no difference what way I thought it through, I knew that this logical decision would send the rest of the season up in smoke. I would be out for at least three or four months. This was the price: no Giro, no chance of the hat-trick in the Tour.

  Fate plays curious tricks on sportsmen. You can fall victim to the smallest thing. And the surgery was not superficial in the slightest. Compared with Bernard Hinault’s operation two years before – he had had minor nodules on the interior face of the knee in the Pes anserine insertion, a ligament known as ‘the goosefoot’ – what I had was clearly deeper, and in some people’s eyes I had waited so long that undergoing radical treatment was the only solution.

  And all the while Cyrille Guimard – who was not delighted at what fate had thrown his way – was having fun sending the press off down blind alleys as he had done with Hinault in 1983. He told them anything and everything, kept the suspense growing. Up until Liège–Bastogne–Liège he was dropping heavy hints about my health without ever giving a precise name to the mysterious problem that was affecting me. He asked me to let him take personal charge of letting the world know, which ended up being counter-productive. Even the announcement that I was to be operated on, which was sent out through a release to the Agence-France-Presse news agency, had a disturbing side to it. The craziest rumours about me were doing the rounds. There were rumours of doping in particular, following the basic and utterly contemptible principle that there was no smoke without fire and I must have sinned in some way. I was deeply hurt, and disgusted.

  I simply couldn’t handle the media bubble. I’ve often berated myself over it. All I needed to say was exactly what was happening at the moment it happened and nothing would have gone wrong. Instead of which the Renault team doctor, Armand Mégret, had to go on the record to calm down the press. The medic explained once and for all and his statement is worth repeating here.

  Unlike certain other people who are being asked at random, I believe I have full knowledge of the pathology behind the infections, accidents and illnesses that affect top-class cyclists. First and foremost it should be underlined that in both the cases of Bernard Hinault and Laurent Fignon the issue is inflammation within the tendon sheath rather than within the tendon itself. Tendon sheaths are subjected to massive pressure for a host of physical and mechanical reasons; when pain appears it is an alarm signal that requires the doctors involved to prescribe firstly complete rest and then anti-inflammatory treatments. Unfortunately these two cases involve sportsmen of exceptional ability whose racing programmes cannot easily be curtailed; as at the same time it’s impossible to know the level of damage of the tendon sheath, surgery is the only answer. Contrary to what others say they believe, repeated medical controls have banned the use of anabolic steroids, drugs which were directly responsible for unrestrained growth in muscle mass and have caused
serious problems in many sports. As for stating that the use of cortisone-based drugs might equally be at the root of these injuries, that goes against medical orthodoxy because it is completely untrue. Cortisone is primarily an anti-inflammatory and its repeated use can cause atrophy of the muscle-tendon ensemble rather than the opposite.

  I didn’t want the public to witness my admission to the Pitié-Salpêtrière hospital as a limping invalid. I didn’t want to turn the operation into a national issue. In the same vein, I didn’t want to be filmed or photographed in a hospital bed. Perhaps it was idiotic of me but I didn’t want to be seen in a hospital bed. I had that right. The public had a different image of me and it wasn’t that of a man lying in a ward. In any case, I didn’t want anyone to feel pity for me. I’ve always been like that: when I get ill, I roll up in a ball and take cover.

  No one died. Let’s not get it out of proportion. The operation went perfectly and Professor Saillant, who had had more than a few people through his hands, had perfectly diagnosed the scale of the injury. He and his two assistants, doctors Bénazet and Catone, worked cleverly to ensure that the operation didn’t last any longer than it needed to. On opening up the tendon they found a nodule of abnormal size. Two other tiny ruptures in the tendon were treated with the same precision. Saillant took out the sheath completely – which no one was ever told about. If I had gone on as before, with individual fibres shearing off and forming small nodules, all movement would eventually have been prevented. I would not have been able to make the slightest effort, even to go on a touring ride.

  I was informed that the rehabilitation process would be a long one, at least three months, during which I would have to gradually increase the workload. On the days after the operation I had to lock the door of my hospital room. One day someone disguised as a nurse came close to gaining entry. I didn’t understand how anyone could want to violate someone’s privacy to that extent.

  I was in plaster, but I was still optimistic. I refused to panic about what would happen in the future. There were journalists who suggested to me: ‘What will happen if you don’t get back to your best?’ I just laughed at that. I was convinced I could heal. More to the point, Bernard Hinault had shown the previous year that a great champion was capable of returning to the very top after major surgery.

  Why get worked up? I was only twenty-four years old. At my age, anything still seemed possible. I took advantage of the long hours when I had to rest by broadening my horizons through reading. Not long before the start of the 1985 Tour – which I watched from a safe distance – I finished l’Amant, by Marguerite Duras.

  At this time I often mulled over one of Jacques Anquetil’s more surprising sayings. ‘If you just win, you put your name in the record books. But convincing victories win over people’s minds.’ And my internal world had no boundaries.

  CHAPTER 19

  * * *

  RENAULT LEAVES THE ROAD

  As the saying goes, bad luck comes in threes. At the end of June I had just begun walking again, happy to get outdoors and fill my lungs with air, when Cyrille Guimard told me something that seemed impossible. It was the worst possible news and it left me adrift in a sea of confusion. The directors of Renault had informed him that la Régie would cease all sports sponsorship at the end of 1985. No more cycling team. No more Formula One. It was a national trauma.

  Their withdrawal was not made public until 25 July, four days before the end of the Tour de France. It put an end to one the finest ventures cycling has ever seen. For Guimard, a time of panic ensued as he struggled to save the team. He had no sponsor and the future was dubious because there was only limited time to find another backer. Fortunately, the bulk of the riders kept faith with us as we sought a sponsor and they decided to wait until September before accepting contracts with other teams. During the holiday period, however, there were few other companies who could be contacted as possible replacements for Renault. Sometimes it was a wild goose chase as businesses tried to take advantage of us to get their name in the papers for nothing. We went nowhere, and as the days progressed the tension grew and ended up having an effect on the team’s morale. My best mate Julot had been going from one crazy episode to another and was on the point of splitting with Guimard. The breakdown was to be irreparable.

  Guimard didn’t manage the situation as well as he might. He was worried and tended to lose his cool. Until Renault had told him what was happening he had always had a secure existence. Suddenly, overnight, he had to fend for himself. We had to find a way out, fast. So we both put a lot of time into the hunt, going to one meeting after another trying to talk a variety of businesses into putting up the money.

  As you can imagine, the quality of the team and the reputation of the staff made an impression on some possible backers. Early on, the boss of the RMO employment agency, Mare Braillon, made Guinmard an offer. But from the word go I could see that it was shaky. We needed 15 million francs a year; they only put 10 million on the table, plus a few million in ‘appearance fees’. It wasn’t very clear-cut. Guimard was cornered and wanted to accept. He was afraid we wouldn’t get anything better.

  During this whole process, Guimard brought me into the negotiations. Together with him I was what amounted to the ‘shop window’ of the company. I had a name and a reputation that I wanted to keep and which I felt had worth. As a double winner of the Tour de France I didn’t believe for a second in what Marc Braillon was offering. It was a fool’s bargain. And in any case it wasn’t anywhere near what our reputation merited. I didn’t buy in. And I ended up telling Guimard: ‘You see, we will get 10 million and nothing else, which won’t do. I don’t agree with it. We have to turn him down and go on looking.’

  And so I began to think of an alternative way of running things. After a few days I said to myself: ‘What if we owned the team?’ I can remember as if it were yesterday. Guimard didn’t understand what I was suggesting. My idea was simple. We would set up a company to sell what amounted to the advertising space that was represented by the team’s jersey. We would sell it at the price that we decided upon, which would not be based strictly on the expense of running a team. My idea had two angles to it. Our company had to be where the money was paid and at the same time we would be the only ones who had a say in running the cycling team. The sponsor was there only to buy the advertising space. Guimard quickly grasped the cleverness of the idea, but didn’t believe in it. He kept saying: ‘You’re crazy. No one will buy into it.’

  Traditionally, to set up a professional cycling team in France, a business founded under the law of 1901 is necessary. The team belongs to the sponsor who nominates a chief executive from within the company. The sponsor has complete power over the team which is dependent upon the goodwill of the company putting up the cash. The formula that we were trying to dream up meant that the sponsoring company would have a contract with a marketing company whose role was to set up a professional cycling team.

  Guimard had no option but to give in. So we created the France-Compétition sporting club and a company called Maxi-Sports Promotion, both of which were jointly owned and run by Guimard and me. We officially became the bosses of the team and were responsible for contracting the riders. Thanks to this redistribution of power, we achieved complete independence: all we now had to do was find a sponsor who would meet our requirements. And if the sponsor were to pull out at the end of their contract, we would then have to find another to replace them. In 1986 it was revolutionary. Soon all professional cycling teams would copy this structure. It was the ‘Guimard-Fignon’ system. I can quite reasonably claim to have paternity rights over this one.

  Cyrille had also understood the financial implications. If a sponsor paid 15 million francs and Maxi-Sports Promotion spent less on the cycling team but still managed to stick to the terms it had agreed with the backer, the difference would make up the company’s profit.

  That was simultaneously the virtue and vice of the system. Soon Guimard would be counting the coppers and
that would end up sullying our shining, noble idea for standing on our own two feet. But neither he nor I was ever short of cash; the opposite was true. We even used one of my sleeping companies and took advantage of the tax benefit that came to newly founded companies: a three years’ tax holiday. We were making money without spending any. We had found the goose that laid the golden eggs.

  An astonishingly good opportunity then came up with the Système U supermarket company, which had been competing for several weeks with Cetelem to get involved with us. Système U were the dream sponsor; the way we suited each other was rare, something to be treasured, a spirit embodied by its chief executive Jean-Claude Jaunait. Not only was he happy to sign a contract for 45 million franes over three years but he accepted – and actually wanted – the new way of working that we were suggesting. Jaunait was a real cycling fan who had tried running a team in 1984 that had ended up as a mixed blessing. He explained:

  Our setback in 1984 taught us two lessons. The first one was that you had to come in at the highest possible level or you would go under the radar. The second one was that we didn’t want to get involved with the technical side of the team. The new system is ideal for these reasons. We are putting money into the best French team and the sponsor – whose place in my eyes is alongside the team in a support role – will not have to deal with problems that he won’t be able to solve. Guimard has full powers and all the independence he could want. He will be in charge and he has my total confidence.